


What's Up, Pussycat?

by hajimebassaidai



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Animal Transformation, Crack, Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-28
Updated: 2012-11-28
Packaged: 2017-11-19 17:26:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/575774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hajimebassaidai/pseuds/hajimebassaidai
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John is pretty certain that Radek is saying that the cat is Rodney. But he couldn't be, could he?</p>
            </blockquote>





	What's Up, Pussycat?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LeesaPerrie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeesaPerrie/gifts).



> Disclaimer: I don't own Stargate: Atlantis or Stargate SG1, Red Dwarf terminology (blink & you'll miss it) or Tom Jones songs, am not connected with any of these in any way and am getting nothing out of this, apart from trying to create a fic-shaped present off a prompt! I only own the story below.

**What's Up, Pussycat?**

Typical. You're minding your own Lt Colonel-type business, going down to Rodney's lab just to talk/provoke/do something to distract from your own crappy morning and, with no warning, the corridor whites out with a flash of light from the open door way.

Instantly alert, you draw your firearm and, ready for anything, move into the doorway, to be met by one somewhat stunned Czech engineer and...a tabby cat which appears to be examining its own paws.

"Radek? Where'd the cat come from?"

He just slowly turns his head, "Colonel?".

"The cat, that one, sitting right there. And what was with the light show anyway?"

Radek just blinks, "Is Rodney".

"Okay", John drawls, reholstering his handgun, "What exactly did McKay do?"

"Not what did he do, what he is!", with accompanying vague handwaving.

John's brow furrows, "So you're telling me. No, you can't seriously be saying...?" Looks like the English language failure is catching but John is pretty certain that Radek is saying that the cat is Rodney. But he couldn't be, could he?

Moving to beside Radek, they both turn to look at the cat. Who narrows his eyes back at them and begins to flick the end of his tail. "Radek?"

"Mmm?"

"You're telling Elizabeth."

________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

So, currently Atlantis' best and brightest are frantically crawling all over the thingy that Radek had explained the term for but apparently had been some kind of "release your inner pain" device for the Ancients. Where the turning into a feline came into it was anyone's guess. Although Rodney probably had several ideas on that but he wasn't currently very talkative.

Turned out that paws and padds don't mix very well but body language was something Rodney was still fluent in. So while engineers and linguists frantically poured over everything to do with the "Transmogrifier", as John had taken to calling it in his head, their hopefully-temporarily furry Lord-and-Master sat on top of a filing cabinet. Bolt erect, green eyes surveying everything, ears flattening out in displeasure at the stupidity before him. As one of the minions dropped a crystal, Rodney whipped around and hissed. The room stopped.

"Ok, McKay. I think it's time to leave them to it," Said John, starting to reach for Rodney and then stopped at the lightening fast wave of a clawed paw. "Look", he dropped the level of his voice, "You're just making them nervous so let's go to..the messhall, and leave them to it for a bit. Alright?" 

Rodney looked at him for a moment, smoothly leapt from the cabinet and swiftly padded out the door. John followed him, calling over his shoulder, "Radek, we'll be in the messhall", and chose to believe that the mutter in Czech meant, "I will somehow manage without your incredible imput".

________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

So progress was slow and adaptions had had to be made. Rodney still ruled the labs, just now scientists had to put up with him trotting across their work benches, paws delicately but swifting weaving in and out, never disturbing any of the wires, crystals, scanners and various bits of Ancient detritus that the scientists seemed to attract. Mistakes earned flattened ears and a low growl had the poor unfortunate frantically trying to see where they'd made a mistake.

The escaped purple fluffball that hitchhiked a ride with AR-5, only to promptly jump out of a kitbag and into the deepest recesses of sickbay, was found when Carson thought to follow the singsong crying and found Rodney crouched in readiness, staring intently into the darkness under a cupboard.

Rodney had had to resort to eating and drinking out of a couple of bowls through necessity but had turned his back and walked off, tail high in the air with a level of disdain that only a cat, or a McKay, can use when they were put on the floor. After that, all bowls were placed on the table, beside his team's trays.

Teyla and Ronon had taken it all in their stride, much as John had expected, although Ronon's remarks one breakfast about Rodney's fur marking looking kinda like his hair line had earned him a hiss. 

Not that Rodney hadn't got his revenge. At least John assumed that was why a tawny streak of fur had nearly tripped him up in the doorway that lunchtime. A streak of fur holding a chicken leg in its mouth, with a bellow of "McKay" following him. That night Ronon sat and played with his knife in his right head, eating steadily, never taking his eyes off Rodney who sat on the table, tail wrapped neatly over his front paws, steadily watching him right back.

But this was Atlantis where the impossible happened on a regular basis and, just over a week after the "incident", a sleep deprived and elated Radek flipped the switch for a somewhat wary tabby while John, having thought about this, held a blanket in case they developed a bad case of naked physicist. 

Which proved to have been a wise precaution. John would always wonder where Rodney's clothes had gone but Rodney just strode off, all wounded dignity, muttering something about it at least being better than a flag.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the rodneymckay-gen Comment Fest #3 over on Live Journal. 
> 
> Written to fill LeesaPerrie's prompt of, "What I would like: Rodney is a cat (happy for him to be a domestic cat or something wilder and bigger, like a cheetah or whatever)."


End file.
